


Unchained

by spartytime



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spartytime/pseuds/spartytime
Summary: A Roman seeks to place unwanted touch upon Nasir, but he is no longer Tiberius nor is he a slave.WARNING: Attempted rape/non-con.





	Unchained

Nasir is silently making count of temple supplies when he senses an unfamiliar presence stalking towards his turned back. He spins on his heel swiftly, startling the man before him. Nasir barely recognises the man for he is covered in grime and various scars litter his body, courtesy of rebel swords. He finally makes the connection when he peers into piercing blue eyes that stare back at him mirthlessly. Nasir’s heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest, not removing his gaze from Celsus, Roman guard of his former dominus. Nasir had believed the man to have met his end the night that Spartacus claimed the villa. But here he was, grinning down at the former body slave, gradually inching closer towards him. Finding voice, Nasir discards the forgotten parchment he has clutched in his hand and places it on the table beside him, “Celsus. What are you doing here?” he chokes out, pleading with his voice to remain steady.

Celsus’ grin does not falter, “You are Agron’s boy now.”

The way he spits out the name of his lover, as though it leaves a bad taste in his mouth sends an unwelcome shiver down Nasir’s spine. He narrows his eyes, relief creeping into his stomach when he realises that Celsus is not armed. It is short-lived when Nasir remembers that he too does not currently possess weapon. “I stand his equal.”

Celsus barks out a laugh, far too loud in the still room. “Is that what he told you?” he demands, taking another step towards the smaller man. 

Nasir sneaks a glance towards the open door before returning his gaze to the intruder. He is as tall as a foreboding mountain, towering over Nasir and casting a dark shadow across his face. Nasir allows himself a shuddering breath before responding, “How did you come to be here?”

A disgruntled expression forms on Celsus’ face, “You and your rebel shits are not as observant as you believe yourselves to be. I escaped the carnage Spartacus brought upon the villa by slipping off into trees when the fucks were otherwise distracted. I’ve been following ever since you departed villa, disguising myself as helpless slave,” the grin has returned to his face by the time his explanation is over. 

The Roman’s scrappy attire is brought to Nasir’s attention by his revelation. He is clad in simple breeches with a ragged cloak wrapped carelessly around his shoulders. Had he really been so blind that he was ignorant of the snake weaving in and out among them, yearning to lash out?

“I have missed you Tiberius,” Celsus’ smile is sinister as his eyes trail over Nasir’s body. Bile threatens to rise in his throat but he forces it back down, determined to not show weakness. “I have watched you for many years, never leaving the side of your dominus, attending to his every need and desire. I knew he would never allow me to have you, even if only for a night. But he no longer stands between us.” 

Nasir digs his nails into his palm, holding back a string of curses, “My name is-“

“I give no fuck to what your name is! You are a slave, nothing more than a Syrian bitch and you will do as I fucking say!” Celsus is crowding in on him now, anger seeping from his pores. Nasir acts quickly, desperate to escape the secluded room reserved for storage so he can seek aid in sending the Roman shit to the afterlife. He delivers a fierce kick between Celsus’ legs, barely registering the man’s groan of pain as he runs from the room. 

He makes it halfway down the temple’s central corridor before he is grabbed by his hair and slammed into the wall, his back protesting as it collides with the hard stone. His head meets the same fate when Celsus’ fist meets his jaw and then his cheek. Nasir ignores the blood pooling in his mouth in favor of attempting to shout for help but his cry is broken off when huge, rough hands circle his throat, hard enough that his breath is trapped in his body. He doesn’t recall seeing anyone within temple walls whilst he was running and concludes that the small population must be gathered outside, engaged in day’s training. Managing to tilt his head in the direction of the entrance, Nasir is too far away to see anything save for the tops of heads and edges of swords that glint in the sunlight.

Celsus knees him in the abdomen, barely avoiding his bandaged wound. Nasir curses the gods that his training had been delayed due to said wound, which was acquired upon return from the mines. He had not been able to learn under Spartacus and Agron’s instruction for some time and as a result he was absent skill and strength to throw the Roman off of him. 

The pressure on his throat becomes harsher and Nasir is trying to fight the resulting dizziness when he notices two bodies entering the temple, Mira and Naevia he thinks, but he cannot be sure for his vision continues to darken the longer he is deprived of oxygen. Whoever it is, they immediately scream out for Agron and Spartacus when they see him being strangled. 

The two gladiators are there in a heartbeat, thundering up the temple stairs with several others following. Nasir can feel himself slipping into unconsciousness before the hands on his tender throat are torn away and Celsus is thrown on the ground.

Nasir’s throat burns as he gasps for breath, watching the havoc unfold in front of him. Agron has Celsus pinned to the ground, a rage in his green eyes that Nasir has never witnessed. Spartacus has his sword drawn, glaring down the man as though he is offended by the mere sight of him, “Who are you?” he snarls.

Nasir is trying to receive oxygen so fast that he chokes on his own breath, “H-He stands Roman, a guard at the villa of, of my dominus.” He manages to stutter out before collapsing in a heap on the ground. Mira is there to help break his fall, rubbing a soothing hand across his back as he tries to regulate his breathing. 

Agron growls and delivers a punch to Celsus’ face, “You fucking shit.”

Celsus grins manically, “I sought only to claim what is mine, the Syrian is a little whore and I will-“ 

He is cut off as Agron repeatedly smashes his skull into the concrete until the life leaves his body and a mess of blood and flesh lie when he head once was.   
Nasir brings a hand to his throat and lets out a sob of pain when he touches the deep purple bruise that has formed there. Agron immediately turns when he hears the noise of distress, climbing off of Celsus’ dead body to appear in front of his lover. Rage builds within him as he examines Nasir’s injuries. Inhaling sharply, he presses his forehead to Nasir’s in order to ground himself and remember that Nasir is alive. 

Nasir remains silent and soaks in Agron’s presence, the feel of his lips as they plant a kiss on his forehead. He leans into Agron’s side, struggling to stand with trembling knees. He notices Gannicus carrying Celsus’ corpse away to dispose of it, blood still staining the stone floor. Agron guides him to the medicus with comforting hands, steadying him when he feels as though his legs will fail him.

Nasir remains silent while his wounds are cleaned and tended to, Agron’s hand a gentle reassurance on the small of his back. He groans and buries his head in Agron’s shoulder. His head is pounding and he wants to sleep but Agron insists that he keeps his eyes open. 

He is guided onto soft bed of furs upon floor in the familiar space he and Agron had claimed as their own once his wounds have been seen to. The medicus instructs Agron and the others to watch over him, and to notify her should his condition change.

Mira helps him to take small sips of water and he manages to smile wearily at her in gratitude. His throat still burns, tingling uncomfortably as though there are flames crawling their way up his windpipe. Letting out a hoarse cough, Nasir shifts his eyes to where his lover stands with Spartacus, Crixus and Gannicus. They are breaking words in hushed voices, Nasir can tell that Agron is tense from the way his arms are folded stiffly across his chest. Nasir watches as he raises a hand to chew impatiently at his thumbnail, hoping that he does not have to leave his side for some time.

Agron nods at what Spartacus says before the rebel leader departs, flanked by Crixus and Gannicus. He makes his way back to sit by Nasir, expression immediately softening when their eyes meet. The presence of his lover is so calming and so warm to Nasir, like the very first hints of sunshine that caress his skin after a long and tiresome winter.   
Reaching out an unsteady hand, Nasir pleads with Agron for some form of contact. He knows Agron is hesitant to touch him, not wishing to worsen his injuries. Agron takes the offered hand in both of his, bringing it to lips to kiss it gently. He lets out a heavy sigh after a moment, “That Roman fuck should never have had the opportunity to lay hands upon you. Apologies.” 

Nasir makes attempt to shake his head but his neck has become stiff and so he settles for words alone, “You are absent fault to apologise for. Had you not intervened in time I would be for the afterlife.”

Agron gives his hand a squeeze and casts a look of determination, “A thing you will never have to fear again. Once you have fully healed we will take to the sands again to resume your training. I believe in you.” 

Nasir smiles up at him, warmth filling his chest, “We will slay many Romans.” 

Agron’s grin illuminates his whole face as he leans down to place a kiss to Nasir’s hair, “We will. For now, take much needed rest.” 

Strength is returned to the Nasir in the following days and he is greeted with friendly smiles and words of encouragement when he returns to the day’s training, picking up sword once again.


End file.
